


Heat

by gentledusk, littleliontree (gentledusk)



Series: Meyer is oblivious and needs to get a clue [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentledusk/pseuds/gentledusk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentledusk/pseuds/littleliontree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Meyer removes his shirt, eats ice cream, and wonders why Professor Sycamore is staring at him. Yes, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt that no one asked for: write a ridiculous fic about Meyer being made to remove his shirt in the most contrived way possible! Hooray! (Not meant to be taken seriously. At all.)
> 
> Set before Augustine learns about Meyer’s secret identity

The only reason he’s even considering this, he tells himself, is because no one is around.

Well, that and the absolutely stifling heat that hangs heavy in the air, clinging cloyingly to his skin in what _should_ be the air-conditioned sanctuary of the lab. Should be, because the AC is currently broken on what feels like the hottest day in the past _decade_ , and that’s what he’s been called here to fix.

Normally, he’s so focused on his work that he doesn’t even notice physical discomfort until after he’s done—a crick in his neck here, an ache in his back there, and so on. Now, however, with the heat growing more oppressive by the minute, sweat soaking his shirt and tricking down his skin, he is seriously considering it.

Taking off his shirt, that is.

It’s not like it’s frowned upon in times like these, or against the law or anything (they are in Kalos, after all). And it’s not like he’s _ashamed_ of his body, per se—he knows he’s strong and a hell of a runner to boot, so he must have _some_ muscles. It’s just that sometimes, being so exposed in the company of others makes him acutely aware of the fact that he’s a hairy, middle-aged man with a bit of a belly who probably smells permanently of machine oil. Not exactly the most attractive combination in the world. Which is why it’s a good thing no one’s around—the lab assistants seem to be holed up in the break room all huddled around a fan, and Professor Sycamore had said that he’d be in his office doing paperwork for a while. He could do it. It’s not like anyone’s around to see him.

One minute passes, then five, then ten. He’s been staring at the same wrench in his tool kit for ten minutes now. The sweat is starting to get in his eyes again. He grabs a rag to mop at his face for the umpteenth time, but his damp shirt still clings to his overheated skin. He looks around, almost furtively, sighs, and pulls his shirt over his head, dumping it on top of his long-since-abandoned hat and stretching. Now that he’s actually done it, he feels a little silly for getting so hung up about it.

It is at that very moment that Professor Sycamore decides to walk into the room.

He’s pretty sure the universe is laughing at him, somehow.

“Ah…” he begins, with no real idea of how he’s going to continue. His arms twitch upwards, about to cross over his chest, but instead he ends up with them hanging awkwardly at his sides. “Sorry, I was just… it’s just… it’s very hot in here.” He flashes Professor Sycamore a sheepish grin. “I, ah, I thought no one would come in here for a while. Did you finish your paperwork already?”

“Not quite,” Professor Sycamore murmurs, licking his lips. He’s not quite meeting Meyer’s eyes and has an indecipherable expression on his face.

Meyer shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “Is… is something wrong?” The staring is definitely getting a little unnerving. Perhaps he’s breaking a dress code? Violating lab safety procedures? Offending Professor Sycamore’s aesthetic sensibilities?

To be fair, though, the professor isn’t exactly the epitome of “lab safety” or even “professionally dressed” right now, sans lab coat and sporting shorts and a floral-print shirt in deference to the heat. Meyer envies him a little, if only because he actually has a shirt on. He makes a move towards where his shirt lies abandoned on the floor, but stops when Professor Sycamore abruptly shakes his head.

“No, no. Nothing is wrong. I just came to offer you one of these,” Professor Sycamore says, holding up two wrapped ice cream sandwiches, “to help you cool off a little.” He smiles. “Though it seems like you’ve already found another way of doing that.”

Meyer is definitely blaming the heat for the red flush he knows is spreading across his skin. “I didn’t mean to—I was going to put it back on—”

“Ah, no need to worry, my friend,” Professor Sycamore cuts in, waving a hand at him. “Can’t have you overheating, after all.” He licks his lips again (they must be dry, with how hot it is today) and winks. “Don’t worry, I can handle a little skin.”

“R-Right… ” Is Professor Sycamore teasing him? He’s pretty sure he’s being teased…

“Do you work out?” Professor Sycamore asks, coming closer and holding one of the wrapped sandwiches out to Meyer.

“Yeah. I have to, after all,” he says, not really paying much attention to the continued teasing as he unwraps his (slightly melted) ice cream sandwich and takes a bite. Heavenly chill bursts immediately across his tongue, and his eyes shut briefly in frozen treat-induced bliss. Bless Professor Sycamore for coming in here, even if it was at one of the worst possible moments.

“Oh?”

“… To stay in shape,” he tacks on hastily, jumping a little when something cold drips onto his chest. It is, as expected, the vanilla ice cream he’s eating. Wonderful. Apparently he can’t even eat today without making a fool of himself. Someone up there is definitely laughing at him. He grabs a rag from his back pocket and wipes the offending liquid off, but the rag, dirty as it is, leaves a streak of grease behind on his skin instead. He sighs, gives up on looking presentable for the rest of the foreseeable future, and goes back to eating his melting ice cream.

When he chances a glance upwards, a few minutes later, he sees Professor Sycamore regarding him with that same inscrutable expression from before. What if… what if the professor suspects his secret identity? The question about working out had seemed innocent enough, but what if it had been a secret test of some sort? To… assess if his muscles would indicate that he could be a superhero, or something? It’s not like he’s some stunning specimen of physical fitness or anything, though he does make sure to keep fit for his nighttime escapades (of the superhero kind, not any other kind!). But he certainly doesn’t have your typical “superhero” body, nothing that should implicate him… so why is Professor Sycamore still staring? Maybe he really is offending his aesthetic sensibilities, and he’s too polite to actually say anything about it? He _has_ heard stories about Professor Birch being forced to change clothes when he visits the lab here… Maybe Professor Sycamore is disgusted? Or maybe there’s some more ice cream on him somewhere?

“Er… is there something on my face?”

Professor Sycamore starts a little, as if roused from deep in thought. “Pardon?”

“Do I have something on my face?” he repeats, one hand rubbing at his neck. “It’s just, you were staring at me, so… ”

“You’ve got a bit… ” Professor Sycamore trails off, pointing to the corner of his mouth. Before Meyer can even make a move to wipe it off, though, Professor Sycamore is there, dabbing at the stray ice cream with a tissue and suddenly far too close for comfort.

“Ah… thank you?” he manages to stammer out, inwardly wincing at the questioning lilt at the end of his sentence. Professor Sycamore is just being helpful! There’s no need to question why he did that or why they’re still standing practically chest-to-chest!

“It was my pleasure,” says Professor Sycamore, staring up at him with that strange, intense look from before.

Meyer stares back cluelessly, trying his best not to fidget or look away. Is there _still_ some ice cream somewhere on him? Is Professor Sycamore expecting some other kind of response? “I really appreciate it. You, um, you didn’t have to do that, you know. Not that I didn’t appreciate it!” Which he’d just said. He’s just going to stop his awkward babbling right now before he embarrasses himself any further. Does Professor Sycamore really have to stand so close? He can feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck and winces, knowing he must be practically radiating heat. It can’t be too comfortable standing so close to him…

Professor Sycamore stares up at him for a few more moments, then steps back smoothly with a small smile on his face. “It was no trouble. Ah, but I should probably let you get back to your work now, no? I’m sure you don’t need me hovering around distracting you all day. " He gives Meyer a little wink. “And don’t worry. No one else will be coming in here, and if I come back, I’ll be sure to knock.” He gestures at Meyer’s bare chest. “So you can continue to work however you’re most comfortable!” And with a jaunty wave, he’s off, humming a cheerful tune as he heads out the door.

Meyer can do nothing but sputter as the door swings shut, staring blankly at the closed door until the sensation of cold liquid dripping down his fingers registers. He looks down to find the melted remains of his ice cream sandwich in his hand, by now threatening to drip onto the floor. He sighs, dumping the messy wrapper in the nearest trash bin and wiping his sticky hands on another rag. He still has absolutely no idea why Professor Sycamore was acting so oddly earlier, but he can worry about that later. Right now, he has an air conditioner to fix.

… And if he’s called in to the lab to take a look at the malfunctioning air conditioner again a week or two later, well. It’s probably just getting old or something, right?


End file.
